Cameron & Tara: A Complicated Love Story
Copyright © 2019 by Krista Harper
No portion of this may be printed or reproduced without written consent from the author.
Present Day – Nashville TN
“Cameron Reid.” I offered with a firm handshake.
“Yes, Cameron. Hello, I’m Dr. Rodsen.” He smiled, returning my grip.
Dr. Rodsen was a small man who looked as though he’d spent most of his time indoors with a good book. He was maybe in his late 50’s and wore navy khaki’s with a button-down shirt and wire rimmed glasses perched on top of his head. Our hands dropped and I quickly placed mine into the front pockets of my blue jeans, looking around the room.
“Please,” said Dr. Rodsen, gesturing to the sofa. “Have a seat wherever you’re comfortable.”
“Thank you.” I replied, choosing a seat the furthest away from the good doctor.
“So Cameron, before we dive in here. I just wanted to say thank you for coming in and meeting with me today. As you know, this isn’t a full forty-minute session, but instead more of a ‘meet and greet’ if you will, to make sure you feel comfortable.” He smiled reassuringly. “Also, I wanted you to know that your files arrived from Dr. Garrison for my review, per your request.” He hesitated. “And I must say, it’s somewhat unorthodox for me to receive such extensive files from another therapist.”
“Well Dr. Rodsen.” I leaned in. “I really wanted to start at the present instead of drudging back through my entire childhood and adolescence again. I’ve had a great life. I’ve lived it. I’ve talked about it. I’m wanting to move on.”
“I see.” He said, removing the glasses from atop his head and putting them on. He picked up a pad of paper and pen from the small table in between us and began scanning the pages. “Well, after reviewing your file, I did have a few questions that I found pertinent. And I’d like to begin with those, if I may?”
“Of course.” I nodded.
“Now, your records indicate that you were adopted, however reading through your files, there isn’t much mention of this.”
“There isn’t much to mention,” I reinforced with a smile, my hands folded on top of my lap.
“Well.” He hesitated. “If I may?”
“Of course.” I smiled again weakly.
“At what age did you become aware of your adoption?”
“I believe I was fifteen at the time.” I said flatly.
“Fifteen? My, that is an awfully long time to wait to tell you. How did your adoptive parents broach the subject?”
I shifted in my seat.
“You mean my parents.” I corrected him, my jaw clenched.
“Oh, why yes, Cameron.” He looked up from his notepad startled. “Your parents. Does it bother you that I called them your adoptive parents?”
“No.” I lied. “However, they are just my parents. No adjectives are needed.”
“Thank you. That is noted.” He cleared his throat before beginning again. “How did your parents broach the subject of your adoption?”
“Well in all honesty, it was me who broached the subject Dr. Rodsen. I was a punk teenager and was digging through my Father’s study, looking for the key to the liquor cabinet, when I found the documentation.”
“That must have been quite the finding Cameron.”
I nodded in response.
“And what happened after that?” Dr. Rodsen asked. “You approached your parents?”
“I did eventually also find the key to the liquor cabinet.” I paused a moment at the painful memory. “I opened the file and spread the paperwork, page by page, out on the floor of my Father’s office then proceeded to drink an entire bottle of 80-year-old scotch. My parents found me that night in the office.”
“And how did you feel when you found the paperwork initially?”
“Dr. Rodsen, look I apologize but this really is information that has been hashed through many times by Dr. Garrison.” I shifted in my seat again, agitated.
“Yes, I can see that.” Dr. Rodsen said, removing his glasses. “May I ask just a few more questions regarding your background, Cameron? Nothing too heavy, I assure you. I’m just trying to get a sense of who you are. Not just on paper, you see?”
I nodded in approval.
“Now your intake paperwork states that you are not employed?”
“Yes.” I replied.
“And yet you have excellent health coverage for your visits?”
“And you appear to be living quite comfortably?”
Dr. Rodsen raised an eyebrow, as if asking another question.
“I have a small trust fund that assures my lifestyle, Dr. Rodsen.” I sighed, offering nothing more.
“You’ve never worked, Cameron?”
“I wouldn’t go that far.” I laughed half-heartedly. “But no, not formally.”
“And may I ask, who established this trust fund? Your parents?”
“Yes.” I nodded.
“Fascinating.” Dr. Rodsen replaced his glasses onto the top of his head before leaning in to speak. “Cameron, when you initially contacted me, you stated that you were in the midst of a struggle. However, now that you are here in my office, I feel that you are not exactly forthcoming with information. Your answers are merely one word statements.”
I stared back at him in silence.
“It might be difficult for me to decipher your…”
“Look Dr. Rodsen.” I interrupted. “I came here to figure out a situation with a woman I care deeply about, not to discuss trust funds and health benefits. If we could just fast forward to the present.”
“Yes, Cameron. I understand that you want answers, however these things take time. Furthermore, most adult struggles occur from behaviors and thinking errors that developed in childhood. Delving into those years would greatly open doors into your behaviors now.”
“How do you know this situation is from my behaviors?” I argued. “Maybe this is her fault?”
“Mr. Reid.” Dr. Rodsen insisted. “Please understand that individuals don’t go through counseling in order to find the correct person to blame. There is no one at fault, only our response or reactions to situations and emotions based on our beliefs, both conscious and unconscious.”
“Then what is it you suggest?” I muttered, growing more frustrated by the minute.
“I suggest Cameron, that we start at the beginning. Tell me about your childhood. Do you have any siblings? What was your relationship with your parents like? Were you outgoing or reserved? Were you punished as a child? Look, Cameron, our time is up for today, but I would like to see you again.” He stood from his chair, extending a hand.
“And I’d like for you to think about the questions I’ve just asked you. Nothing we do is isolated. Everything has a connection.”
I stood to shake his hand in a farewell before leaving the office. I had no intention of returning.
“And Cameron.” He continued to talk as he shook my hand, making direct eye contact. “If you’re struggling currently in a situation with a woman that you care for, your past will be able to shine some light onto the whyof the emotions and behaviors you’re experiencing.”
I smiled weakly. “I’ll consider that.”
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